Some nights when I am not feeling well I want to be six again. I want to be wrapped up in blankets and snuggled with pillows. I want the weight of someone beside me on the bed or couch and hear their voice as they tell me a story.
I always seem to want this the most when I am alone. My cat only talks so much.
I would like to hear a story of someone small who grew very very tall. Thin as can be they, bow and sway with each breeze. I like the rhyme and rhythm. Their cadence would be melodic and softly dramatic when needed so I can drift off into sleep.
Small pointed feet dug sharply into the ground so the swaying limbs would not give way. Long strong hands held on to the gables of the house the child had grown too tall for.
"Can you fold up small?" Called the child's aunt as the mother lay weeping in the door way.
"Why would I be small, when I can be so tall?" Asked the child in confusion.